


Of Gutters and Galaxies

by iliterallydecepticanteven



Series: Surviving and Thriving [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Optimus is a poetry nerd you cannot convince me otherwise, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sort Of, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliterallydecepticanteven/pseuds/iliterallydecepticanteven
Summary: "The first old dusty datapads he found the poetry on were in the back of the library in the Elite Guard academy. They were worn and cracked, with peeling protectant and flickering backlights. Despite this, Optimus picked a couple of them up and added them to a pile he was collecting. The assigned paper was on pre-war literature and examining how the war changed it. All of the datapads Optimus had checked out for it were returned except for the poetry. He requested an extension for those."With Quintessons attacking Autobot and Decepticon colonies alike, Optimus finds himself spending more time with Decepticons in a non-hostile environment than he was used to. This, of course, leads to casual conversation (what else do you say to the mech you just watched rip apart a MTO Quintesson soldier with his bare servos?) and Optimus finds himself getting the answer to an age old question he really wanted the answer to.But he's not too sure how he feels about the answer.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: Surviving and Thriving [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162736
Comments: 72
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter One

The first old dusty datapads he found the poetry on were in the back of the library in the Elite Guard academy. They were worn and cracked, with peeling protectant and flickering backlights. Despite this, Optimus picked a couple of them up and added them to a pile he was collecting.

The assigned paper was on pre-war literature and examining how the war changed it. All of the datapads Optimus had checked out for it were returned except for the poetry. He requested an extension for those.

Those cracked datapads became his favorite pieces. He found himself writing his favorite lines in the margins of his notes during boring lectures and muttering them to himself when he was drifting off to recharge. He was elated when he found three more by the same author in the library.

The author's name was Swiftsteel. It sounded like a pen name and, to Optimus dismay, it was. There were no records of a Swiftsteel ever existing beyond publishing records. Deep in his spark Optimus hoped that their creation certificate was created before and subsequently lost in the Great Purge but he knew how slim those chances were. His intentions in their survival were even selfish, as he simply wished for more works to read.

He spent his free time pouring over the poems. He kept them out of the library for as long as he could and often kept one in his subspace at all times. He even had one on him during and in the aftermath of Archa Seven that he "forgot" to return upon his discharge from the academy.

He kept that one with him when he was next placed with a space bridge repair crew. A spot here and there at different ports allowed him to gather two more previously unknown publications. The seller at one neutral port did give him an odd look when he mentioned the author's name. Optimus chalked it up to it being poetry and didn't consider the author's identity to be the reason.

His collection of three managed to survive the ordeal on Earth and the trip back to Cybertron. The trio got hastily packed when the colonies called for help from attacking Quintessons and Optimus arrived on Omega Supreme as their Magnus, ready to lead the charge against the invaders and beat them back to their edge of the galaxy.

The attack did not go as planned. They lost waves of their troops and half the colony planet succumbed to invading forces. He was crouched in a ditch trying to fix a jammed blaster when he gets the call from Megatron. The warlord asked him simply, "In need of some aid, little Autobot?"

Their needs were similar, if not the same. Quintessons were inching into their territory, taking over and ravaging their colony planets one by one. The Decepticons had fared better than them, having been able to keep Quintessons from making landfall on two planets and throwing them off the third. Rumors spread about how the Decepticon success was largely from their harsher tactics and willingness to engage in chemical and biological warfare.

One Autobot colony had been attacked by Quintessons, well, two, including the one Optimus still stood on. They had fared poorly, with casualties in the hundreds. Whole cities had been annihilated and energon soaked the ground so deeply that simply walking made it bubble up onto the edges of his pedes.

"We won't be able to withstand another attack," Optimus told the council. He stood in Omega Supreme now before video feeds of the other council members still on Cybertron. Safe on Cybertron, not having to witness the carnage he had seen, not having their pedes leave sticky grotesque tracks in their wake. “We are in dire need of all the help we can get and we are being offered it.”

“Proposing that we align ourselves with the Decepticons is quite traitorous talk, as any good Autobot would know,” Sentinel sneered from his own personal quadrant among the multiple squares of faces.

Optimus tamped down his frustration and continued, “I am not proposing an alignment with them.”

“Then what are you proposing?” Sentinel continued, pushing his face closer to the camera.

“A temporary ceasefire,” Optimus answered. There was a murmur across the screen as the council members whispered to each other. The bot pushed ahead, continuing, “The Quintessons are a mutual threat for both ourselves and the Decepticons. And the Decepticons have managed to stave off their attacks much better than we have. Megatron asked for a temporary ceasefire, just until the Quintessons have been pushed out of our territory and back into their own. Then the ceasefire will be null and we can resume our usual business.” He anticipated the next question and quickly added, “They won’t ever even come close to Cybertron, so we don’t have to worry about them invading our home.”

“What if they try to take our colonies? What then?” one of the council members asked. They were new and Optimus had yet to learn their name.

“We have predicted that could happen. One of the stipulations of the ceasefire we hope to include on the official document is the sharing of resources. In exchange for protection and aid against Quintesson forces, the Decepticon army will receive energon, fuel, and medical care from us. We also ask for other resources from them as well, although the exact resources have yet to be determined. If they fail to protect a colony or inflict substantial avoidable property damage and-or civilian causalities, the ceasefire will be rendered null as well as any trade agreements.” His optics flicked over to the door of the bridge as it swished open. Bulkhead stepped through the open door and gave him a friendly wave with his free servo before holding up his other and pointing to its contents. He was holding a datapad with a Decepticon insignia on the back. Megatron’s terms and conditions for the ceasefire which he had said he would send over.

He waved one of his servos at his side in greeting at Bulkhead without raising his arm, just off-camera, before raising one digit to say _just a moment_. He flicked his optics back to the screen. Council members were deliberating amongst themselves, their voices just low enough for Optimus to miss what they were saying. That was probably intentional.

After a few tense moments, Alpha Trion finally cleared his voice and announced, “While we cannot agree to a ceasefire without knowing the full details nor the situation, I think we all agree that it would be best for deliberations to begin in earnest. As such, myself and other members of the council, whom I shall choose, will be coming out to join up with your fleet and discuss this matter in person with you, Optimus Magnus, and Megatron, and whichever Decepticons he chooses to accompany him. We shall be there in a few megacycles, Magnus. Until then, the council is convened for the time being.”

Optimus let out a small breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it would be close enough for today. “Thank you, Alpha Trion. I await your arrival.”

“Ah, actually, Magnus, if you could remain on the line for a moment, I would like to discuss this situation with you in, uh, further detail,” Sentinel chimed in.

Optimus frowned slightly, more out of annoyance than displeasure. This meeting had been the only thing standing between him and the washracks and a cube of energon. He flicked his optics over to Bulkhead, still standing by the door, who had been silently watching the whole ordeal. He was also coated in energon and dirt, also in dire need of a wash and refueling, which he had been unable to attain since he had been beckoned to the Decepticon ship personally to retrieve the datapad. Optimus had asked why him, why not Bumblebee, who was their scout and thus more suited to the duty. General Strika had simply narrowed her optics and replied, “I don’t trust Autobots who can fit in ventilation systems.”

“Very well, Sentinel Prime, but please keep it brief,” he replied. The other council members’ faces disappeared one by one, making the remaining members' own squares expand in size, making Sentinel’s face expand in size as well until he was taking up the massive screen and looming above Optimus. The mech thought of previous times when this had occurred. On Omega Supreme for one, when the ship was called the _Orion_ and they had just dug the AllSpark out of the rubble of a busted-up Space Bridge and Decepticons were on their afts and getting closer by the cycle. How Sentinel had snarked at him before finally patching him through to Ultra Magnus. How, before his promotion to Magnus, Sentinel had loomed over him both physically and by rank, and how he wasn't afriad to constantly remind Optimus of his failures and shortcomings. 

Well, as the Earth saying goes, the tables had turned. 

“If I may speak so openly, Optimus, why the frag are you risking everyone’s lives like this?” Sentinel hissed, his voice low. He likely wasn’t alone in the council chamber yet. “The Decepticons are dangerous, you can attest to that! You lost one of your soldiers taking them down and saving that stupid mudball of a planet.”

Optimus felt his armor prickle at the mention of Prowl. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Bulkhead tense. Although Jazz had assured them a thousand times that Prowl had chosen to sacrifice himself and that it wasn’t anyone's specific fault, he still felt a stab of guilt every time his name was mentioned.

Before he could respond, Sentinel pushed ahead, “Besides, it’s just a couple of colony planets! We can always get more.”

That caught Optimus completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

Sentinel waved a servo. “Colony planets come and go. They would have lost their resourcefulness in a few hundred stellar cycles anyway when their mines or wells or whatever it is they do there runs dry. And then we would have had to find a new one anyway. If we just let the Quints have it, then we don’t have to spend all this time and resources protecting it or grovel at the pedes of the ‘Cons.”

Optimus bit back a sharp insult and instead snapped, “Sentinel, did you learn nothing from the Academy? If the Quintessons take our colonies, then they inch closer and closer to Cybertron and soon the battle will be on our own home. We have to preserve the colonies to avoid them coming any closer. And not mention the civilians living in those colonies! We have nowhere for them to go and we must ensure that their homes are kept safe!”

Sentinel sneered at him. “Ah, quit your emotional slag Optimus. No one’s going to blink an optic for dead colonists. Besides, the more of them get offlined, the more resources can be allocated to Cybertron.”

A sharp cracking sound to his right. He glances over to see Bulkhead angrier than he had ever seen him. He was staring intently at Sentinel’s face and shaking from rage. The servo on the datapad he held had tightened to the point where the glass had begun to crack.

Optimus turned back to the screen, giving Sentinel an enraged look. “I will deal with your utter disregard for Cybetronian life later. For now, I need to refuel and prepare for Alpha Trion’s arrival. You are dismissed, Sentinel.”

Before the Prime could say anything else — and he looked like he really wanted to, from the way his mouth dropped and his optics narrowed — Optimus hit the disconnect button with a little more force than was totally necessary. It managed not to break.

He sighed heavily and let his frame sag. Primus help him, this whole ordeal was tiring. He rubbed his face with his servos before looking over to where Bulkhead still stood.

His helm was slumped and he was swiping digits over the cracks in the glass. Optimus approached him on weary pedes that made quiet sticking noises from the dried energon stuck to their bottoms. Bulkhead looked up and he could see tears in his optics, some of them already sliding down his face.

“Sorry about the datapad, bossbot,” he muttered as he gave it to him.

Optimus examined it. The damage was superficial and could be fixed quickly without damage to the internal components or files. “It’s alright, I can fix it. And if the ‘Cons ask, I’ll say I dropped it.” He reached out and set a servo on Bulkhead’s arm. “How are you? You looked ready to offline Sentinel.”

Bulkhead gave a small laugh and shook his helm. “Yeah, but I think everyone wants to do that.” He looked out the window of the ship. With the video feed gone, they were given a clear view of Dromedon as Omega made a slow orbit around the planet. “I grew up on Opulus—a colony like this. Small town, low population, everyone knows everyone, and everyone’s just trying to get by. I’d heard these stories about the past, about how during the war, the really big one, Cybertron wanted so much energon from our farms that everyone was always on the verge of starvation. That I was lucky to be created after the war, when there was energon leftover after the amount Cybertron requested and leftovers after everyone fueled up, enough for us to do other stuff with it, like turn it into high grade or candies.”

He looked back to Optimus and the Magnus could see a weariness in the big bot’s optics, a weariness that he suspected Bulkhead had been carrying his whole young life. “Growing up, I always got told by the older bots, what few there were, that Cybertron didn’t care about us. That all we were to them was a factory, a source of energon. That we weren’t seen as bots with lives and families and friends and homes and things in those homes. That Cybertron would let us fall to the Decepticons or invaders in an instant and start and new energon farm on some other planet somewhere else and leave us all to be offlined or enslaved or whatever. I never wanted to think it was true. But I guess it always was.” He swiped at his optics with his servos, trying to wipe away tears.

They stood in silence for a long moment before Optimus quietly asked, “Is that why you requested to aid with this mission?”

Bulkhead nodded. “Opulus is kinda close by. I got worried that the Quints would go after it next. I wanted to be ready if they did. Make sure the attack was personal, you know?”

Optimus nodded despite not really knowing. Being created and raised on Cybertron, he had no clue what colony life was like. But that didn’t mean he could turn a blind optic to colonists. They were bots like him, fellow Cybertronians with beating sparks and energon pumping through their fuel lines. Now, as their Magnus, they were also his charges.

“Enough of my sobbing. I need a cube real bad. I underestimated how big the ‘Cons ship was. They made me walk through the whole thing! Just to get one datapad!” Bulkhead turned from Optimus, hitting the panel to open the door. They walked out into the hallway, which was blessedly empty. “You wanna come to the mess hall with me?”

Optimus could feel the sticky tug of the bottom of his pedes again and shook his helm. “No, I need to hit the washracks first. Thank you for retrieving the datapad.”

“Not like I had a choice in the matter. Don’t know what that huge femme had against smaller bots,” Bulkhead said. They stood in the center of the hallway, poised to go opposite directions. Bulkhead reached out and rested one huge servo on Optimus shoulder and said, “Thanks for listening to me, bossbot. I know it doesn’t sound like something you should be thanked for, but I want to do it anyway. Besides, you don’t seem to get thanked a lot as Magnus.”

Optimus gave him a soft smile. “You’re welcome, Bulkhead. Don’t be afraid to come talk to me about anything else. And if Sentinel or anyone else says anything like that ever again, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

He didn’t add anything about not getting thanked enough. In his optics, he wasn’t doing enough to be thanked for. Just the basic duties of a Magnus protecting their people.

Bulkhead nodded then broke away, tossing a “See you later, bossbot” over his shoulder as he lumbered down to the mess hall. Optimus watched him for a moment before turning away, heading to his quarters. Perks of being the highest-ranking officer onboard meant private washracks connected to his quarters.

The datapad was left on his desk as he stepped into the hot spray of solvent, sighing quietly. The solvent ran greyish-pink as he scrubbed himself clean. He stayed under the spray for a few cycles longer than necessary, letting the tension drain from his body like the soap suds down the drain. He tried pointedly to not think about how the energon being washed away from him belonged to someone or multiple someones. He failed to do so. 

Clean and dry from his shower, he walked into his room, looking down at the datapad. He would need to read it over completely before the council got here. Primus, when would the council get here? He had been told a few megacycles but a few megacycles could be two or it could be seven. His tanks rumbled out in protest and his HUD flashed him a low fuel warning. The last time he refueled escaped his processor, indicating to him that it had been far too long.

He grabbed the datapad, wincing as shards trickled from it and onto the floor. It would definitely need to be repaired before being given back to the Decepticons or even handed to Alpha Trion for that matter. He could do it after refueling. The whole process only took about five cycles and he had done it countless times before when his beloved datapads got dropped or stepped on.

Swiftsteel’s poetry. It always seemed to calm his nerves. If he could squeeze in some free time he would read a bit of it. Just to get his servos to stop shaking. Or maybe the shaking was from low fuel?

Bulkhead and Bumblebee were in the mess hall. The larger bot was recounting what the inside of the Decepticon warship looked like and the smaller bot was evidently disappointed at the lack of gruesome décor and the lights being too low for Bulkhead to really see anything.

“I think it’s an energon saving thing. And the purple lights, I mean, that’s their color, you know?” Bulkhead said, swirling the last bit of his energon in his cube.

“Yeah, but still, you would think that a warship older than us would have some flare to it! Just sounds like a boring old hunk of junk,” Bumblebee muttered. Without a cube to occupy himself with he was scratching his digits into the table, something Ratchet would yell at him for if he caught him doing it. If Arcee caught him he would get a stern and disappointed lecture given in hushed tones. The lectures always seemed to stick with Bee more than the yelling. 

Optimus gave them both a small wave before getting a cube from the dispenser and plunking down on the other side of the mess hall. Megatron — or whoever wrote it — had given him a small mercy in avoiding the dense legal language official Autobot documents were written in. Based on the big red _DRAFT_ printed in the upper right corner of every page, this was likely intentional.

The document was brief, compared to some of the other things Optimus had to read, coming out to a cool and easy twelve pages. He finished the document before his cube and rewarded his accomplishment by rising and stretching. At some point during his reading, Bulkhead and Bumblebee had left, leaving him alone. The cube’s empty thump onto the table after he knocked back the last of its contents was loud against the quiet of the room. 

Joints screamed out at him and his shoulders felt heavy. Primus above, he needs some recharge. Collecting the datapad he walked to the med bay. Before he poked his helm in he could hear a quiet conversation and muffled laughter. He hesitated just before the open doorway and knocked.

“Yeah?” Ratchet called out in his gruff voice. Optimus rounded the corner. The medic was sitting up on one of the examination tables, Arcee standing across from him, leaning against the counter. The old bot smiled at him when he entered. “Optimus! Glad to see you’re still up and moving. Finally coming in for your medical check?”

He smiled back at him and shook his helm. “That’s going to have to wait a little longer. Alpha Trion and some of the members of the council are on their way here to begin negotiations with the Decepticons. I wanted to grab some recharge before they arrived. Would you be willing to monitor communications and wake me when they get?”

“I can do it,” Arcee says before Ratchet gets a chance to respond. At the medic’s hesitant look she replies, “You still have to go do medical checks on the troops and then you have to get some recharge of your own. Don’t try to deny it or argue with me!” She looks over to Optimus, gives him a warm smile that makes him feel at ease, and says, “I’ll monitor everything and wake you when they get here. You go rest up.”

He smiles back and nods. “Thank you.” 

With that, he departs for his quarters. He gets there on autopilot, collapsing face down on his berth with the datapad still in his servos. He lets himself lie there for a moment, savoring the brief reprieve he had given his joints before letting out a groan as he rose again. He needed to change the broken glass. He wanted to read poetry.

The glass repair was quick and simple. Pop out the old glass, ensure no further damage had occurred within the datapad, remove connections from the old glass, put the connections on the new glass, and then shove the new glass into place. He swiped through it again, ensuring the whole screen responded to touch and he hadn’t somehow damaged the contents of the datapad. Once he was satisfied with his work, he swept the glass shards into the waste bin by his desk and pulled open one of the drawers. Three datapads stood in a stack within. 

The second one was pulled from the middle. Its title, _Of Gutters and Galaxies_ , was etched into the side in fading glyphs. This was the one Optimus had “forgotten” to return upon his expulsion from the Academy and was the oldest of them all, both in publication date and Optimus's ownership of it.

A small grunt slipped from him as he collapsed onto his berth yet again. The datapad came dimly to life, igniting to the center of the poem, the last location he had been reading it. He remembered the last time he picked this one up. It was the night after the incident with Blackarachnia and Sentinel reuniting with each other. He had lain awake on his berth in Detroit, troubled by the confrontation he had seen and wracked with grief. He had turned to reading to try and fall into recharge. It worked, but the nightmares from that recharge cycle still haunted him. It had contained Blackarachnia’s screaming face, an alternative ending to what had occurred with her stumbling from the explosion bloody, with parts of her missing, collapsing in front of them with energon and organic blood dribbling from her wounds and Sentinel's horrified screams ringing in his audials. 

Optimus squeezed his optics shut tight in an attempt to shut out the thoughts. There was no time, no energy to dwell on that now. Blackarachnia was dead, consumed in an explosion, sacrificing herself to save him and Sentinel. A sacrifice she made even after Sentinel tried to kill her on the spot.

A few deep stabilizing breaths and he opens his optics again. The poem gets tapped back to the beginning and he lets himself be absorbed into the words. He slips into recharge only a few pages in, the datapad being lowered down to to rest on his chest plate, rising slowly and evenly with his quiet ventilation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally supposed to be a quick and easy ~2,000 word piece. 
> 
> I now have the second chapter completely written and I'm working on the third now. I'm probably going to post every updates every other week, if not earlier. It depends on how chaotic these next few months are for me. 
> 
> One of my 2020 resolutions was to finally break my writer's block and publish something. Better late than never I guess! 
> 
> Also, if you feel there is something that needs its own tag or warning, please comment and let me know! I am a little blind to what constitutes as needing its own warning and tag.


	2. Chapter Two

Quiet knocking at his door and low calls of his name. Optimus wakes slowly, pulled out of not enough recharge, his chassis and helm screaming in weakened agony as he drags himself into a sitting position. The datapad slips from his chest and onto the berth beside him. The knocking gets faster and the voice gets louder. Optics remain shut as he calls out, “I’m awake — what is it?”

His processor gets working enough for him to register the voice as belonging to Arcee. “Alpha Trion and his council members are approaching. ETA is half a megacycle.”

“Got it. Thank you for letting me know.” He heard Arcee’s quiet _you’re welcome_ from behind the door and rose to his pedes. His optics finally opened and he blinked them a few times. Maybe he could talk the council and the Decepticons into keeping this quick so he could go back to recharge or convince everyone to take a five megacycle break in between meetings. Unlikely, but still, something he could wish for nonetheless.

Stretching returned some of his strength at least and he hissed as pain shot up from his left knee joint. His half megacycle would have to be spent with Ratchet finally getting his medical check.

He commed Ratchet, asking if he would be able to meet him in the med bay. The medic confirmed and Optimus grabbed the Decepticon datapad from his desk. He was about to leave when he spotted the poetry still laying on his berth.

These were his quarters, shared with no one but himself. He was the only one with the passcode to the door and the override sequence would have to be conducted by two other officers at once. Visitors had never stepped foot into these quarters and likely never would. But despite the privacy and security of the room, he still snatched the datapad off the berth and slipped it into the drawer with the two, resting it on top of them. 

* * *

Ratchet admonished him for delaying coming in before grumpily giving him a clean bill of health, save for his sore left knee joint. “Doesn’t look like it’s sprained or torn,” the medic said as he poked at it. “Try to stay off it, don’t stand for long periods, and get some rest. If it gets any worse, I’ll go poking around inside it.”

Alpha Trion and the other council members arrived soon after, their ship landing next to them. Arcee had pulled Omega out of orbit to land in a field and one of the Decepticon’s shuttles sat farther away, closer to the encroaching jungle than to the nearby city. Bulkhead had told them that when he asked why they couldn’t bring down the whole _Vengeance_ , he had been laughed at before being told that warships weren’t capable of entering and exiting planetary atmospheres and that instead, they sent down shuttles.

“It sure doesn’t look like a shuttle,” Bumblebee muttered. The shuttle sitting near them did, indeed, not look like a shuttle, at least by Autobot standards. Well-armed and massive, it looked more like a small warship than a transport ship.

Alpha Trion smiled at Optimus as he approached. “So good to see you in person, Optimus Magnus,” he said as he reached out and clapped a servo on his shoulder.

He smiles and claps a servo over his shoulder as well. “It is good to see you too. Ready to begin the meeting?”

They convened in Omega Supreme, taking over the one main meeting room in the ship. Every seat was filled as they deliberated over the ceasefire and the datapad that had been delivered to Optimus. The bot noticed that Sentinel was missing from the room, obviously not chosen by Alpha Trion. He sent a silent thanks to Primus. At least he had one less thing to worry about.

“The conditions laid out here are…attainable and not unreasonable,” one of the council members said between punching numbers into his datapad. “My only concern would be their request for silicon, which would have to be imported from practically the other side of the Commonwealth. But, beyond that, I see no issues with it.”

Alpha Trion tapped his fingers against the table and nodded, deep in contemplation. “Very well then. Megatron and his forces shall be informed of our agreement to their terms. Does someone have the draft our of own terms and conditions to be signed and given to them?”

One of the council members who had been rapidly typing during the whole meeting nodded and read out all thirty-eight pages of their document. Optimus winced at the length and the dense legalese it had been written. Hopefully, Megatron wouldn’t take the format and length too personally. It passed from servo to servo, each scrawling their signature onto the bottom line of the document until it finally landed in Optimus’s servos. He added his signature as the final one, last on the page, and powered it down.

With that, Alpha Trion turned to Optimus. “Who shall contact Megatron?”

“I will,” he replied, “he contacted me first so I have his comm line.”

“Very well. Then shall we end this meeting and disperse until the next solar cycle?”

He nodded and announced, “Meeting adjourned.”

Everyone in the room rose and began shuffling out, collecting their belongings off the table and making their way back to the ship they arrived on. While Optimus was glad for the break and would be especially glad for the recharge, he could feel an itch settling under his plating, like they should be pushing for the official ceasefire document now and preparing for the next wave of attacks instead of spending a few megacycles in meetings and calling it quits for the solar cycle.

He pushed down that itch, ignored it, and grabbing the Decepticon datapad and their own from the table, trying to open a line to Megatron’s comms. It rang twice before being cut off. He frowned and tried again. And again, it rang twice was cut off. Was Megatron hanging up on him?

Before he could try again, Bulkhead appeared in the doorway. “General Strika called and said that Megatron can’t meet with you right now. She said she’s waiting for you outside the ship.”

Optimus frowned briefly before heading out of the ship. General Strika stood at the end of the ramp exiting the ship, gazing into the jungle. Her servos were crossed and he watched for a moment as she rubbed one of her thumbs over her knuckles. He made his steps more pronounced and she broke out of her trance to look over at him. Her servos moved from in front of her to behind her and she called out, “Optimus Magnus. So good to see you. I assume today’s deliberations went well?”

He slowed a bit as he neared, not yet willing to sacrifice the small amount of height the ramp gave him over her. “What makes you say that?”

“Since your arrival here was not accompanied by your soldiers and my ship remains intact, I believed that all went well.” She cocked an optic ridge at him and her voice went cool as she asked, “Have I assumed wrong?”

Optimus pushed down the wave of fear clawing its way up his throat and shook his helm at her. “No, everything went well. We have agreed to the terms and conditions given to us by you and we have drafted our own.” He handed over the datapad displaying his faction’s insignia on the back first, amazed at how her giant servos seemed to consume it wholly, before handing over the one displaying her own faction’s insignia.

A small frown drew her optics close together and she rose the Decepticon datapad up into the air to get a better look at it. The light from the setting sun hit it at an angle and she said, “You broke the screen?”

“It got cracked so I fixed it,” he replied. No need to throw Bulkhead into the blaster fire for damage that was superficial and easily fixed.

Her optics flitted over his frame and he could feel her studying him as she said, “This datapad was produced before the war. It’s probably older than you. The tools needed to remove the screen are long lost and antiques now. How in the pit did you know how to fix this?”

There was no anger to her voice, only genuine curiosity. “I have datapads like it — old poe—er, novels, that were published before the war. I learned how to fix the datapads myself and make the tools needed to fix them so I could keep them since I can’t find them anywhere else,” Optimus explained.

Strika was back to examining the datapad, tilting it back and forth, making the light glint off of it and across the ground. “You did an excellent job, from what I can see. Will need to check the touch sensitivity though.” She set it on top of the other datapad and turned to him, mischievousness gleaming in her optics. “Perhaps we will have to amend our terms to include having you repair a bunch of old datapads.”

“I don’t think the head of the Autobots repairing broken Decepticons datapads would be taken very well by either side,” he replied, trying to let some humor slip into voice.

“You wouldn’t be handling anything sensitive. Old novels, old poetry, maybe even a photo album or too.” She straightened herself and asked, “When do negotiations begin in earnest?”

“Once you approve our terms and conditions. Then I hope to bring everyone together to begin discussions.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Optimus wanted to, or rather, needed to expedite the process and scratch the itch that had settled beneath his plating.

“Good. I will inform Lord Megatron of this. We’ll be waiting for your response until then.” With that, Strika turns from him and makes her way back to the shuttle. 

* * *

His recharge is deep and dreamless. He wakes a few cycles before his alarm goes off, feeling refreshed and better than he had in solar cycles. Perhaps a testament to how much good a recharge cycle could do for a mech would be that his knee didn’t scream out when he stood and stretched.

The mess hall has some of the council members, sitting together at their own table and chatting amongst themselves. Optimus collects his cube and instead heads to the table where his crew sits, plopping down next to Ratchet. 

“Council meetings continuing today?” Arcee asks. She’s sitting across from them, half her cube gone and datapad laying on the table, a light pen held in one of her servos.

“Yes. If they’ve approved our terms and conditions, then we could meet with the rest of the Decepticons sometime later today,” Optimus replied.

“You guys sure are taking your sweet time, huh,” Bumblebee quipped from where he sat next to Arcee.

“Welcome to bureaucracy, kid,” Ratchet muttered before taking a swig from his cube.

“We know if the Quints are anywhere nearby?” Bulkhead asked from the end of the table.

“I’ve been communicating with some of the ‘Cons since they have a better tracking system at the moment,” Arcee said, turning on her datapad. “Currently, nothing. After they fled back into their own territory, they haven’t been seen near the Commonwealth or the Decepticon Empire.”

“Think we’re lucky enough for them to not attack us again?” Bumblebee asked. There was hope in his voice.

“Not likely,” Optimus said, watching as Bumblebee deflated at his words. “From what I learned in the Academy, the Quintessons are sore losers above all else.”

“One thing that we did discover is that the Quintessons almost seem to have a pattern to their attacks. Or at least a common goal,” Arcee said, tapping on her datapad. It brought up a galactic map with two red circles and three purple ones. “The Decepticon planets all had some form of energy manufacturing on them, whether that be drilling for oil, energon farming, or energon refineries. Our planets, including this one, also had to do with that, both having energon farming and refineries. Based on this pattern, we think it would be best to send troops to any other colonies involved in energy production in some capacity.”

Optimus didn’t miss the way that Bulkhead had gone quiet as he stared intently at the map, likely finding his home planet somewhere on there. Next to him Ratchet hummed and asked, “Why do they need energon? The Quints never had any use for it. Why now?”

“That’s the quadrillion shanix question isn’t it,” Arcee said, more to herself than anyone else as she studied the map intently.

“Do you think there’s a directional pattern as well?” Optimus asked. From where he was sitting, there looked to be one, with the attacked planets all being at ninety-degree angles to each other.

The femme frowned down at her datapad. “That’s what we’re working on now. My guess is that it’s not very likely, beyond the simple pattern of being energy producing planets close to the Quintessons’ Sphere. A directional pattern would be hard to determine as we would have to factor in rotational patterns, proximity to the solar bodies of the systems, and everything is on a three-dimensional platform.”

Optimus stared with her for a moment before downing the rest of his cube. He was about to rise when he spotted Jazz crossing the mess hall to their table with a datapad in his servo.

“Just got this back from the ‘Cons,” Jazz said as he handed it over. Optimus recognized it instantly from the insignia on the back. Their own terms and conditions. He turns it on and scrolls through the document. There were a few notes here and there, mostly asking for increases or decreases of the amounts of certain requests, a couple of grammar and spelling corrections, and at the very bottom of the document, a collection of signatures, the final one being Megatron’s own.

Optimus stared at it in wonder. The Decepticons moved faster than he had anticipated.

“Thank you, Jazz,” he said, “looks like we’ll be meeting with the ‘Cons today after all.”

Unfortunately, as Optimus soon learned, the council members were almost all bureaucrats who had either never seen a ‘Con before or it had been millennia since they saw their last one, and thus were reluctant to meet with any of them, even surrounded by armed guards and on their own ship. It made him want to smash his helm into the table.

“I just think it’s a bit of a security risk, that’s all,” one of the members admitted as he wrung his servos together. 

“I know we traveled all the way out here but I didn’t think that the traveling meant agreeing to actually being face-to-face with a Decepticon!” one of them shrieked.

“This could be a full-blown assassination attempt for all that we know,” another scoffed.

Optimus rubbed his optics with the palms of his servos and internally groaned. This was getting nowhere. Even the corrections to their terms and conditions, increasing and decreasing amounts, was quickly agreed upon. But the second he mentioned meeting with them, all slag let loose.

He lowered his servos and sighed before sitting up straighter. “Megatron was very clear in his intentions. He wants to have in-person meetings and refuses to do it over any sort of digital communication. Not everyone has to be there, but if you want a say in what is included in the ceasefire, you have to be there.”

The council members went quiet and averting their optics as he scanned the room. Alpha Trion finally sighed and announced, “I, for one, will be present at the meetings.”

Optimus nodded and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Councilmember Alpha Trion. Would anyone else like to confirm their presence?”

The silence continued. Finally, after a few tense cycles, three other council members raised their servos and announced as well that they would be attending. Optimus nodded and thanked each. “Final call. Anyone not attending the meetings can be sent back to Cybertron since we have no other use for you here.”

“Why can’t we communicate digitally?” one of the council members asked, rising slightly. Optimus recognized them as the one who shrieked earlier. “Why must we be silenced for being concerned about our own safety?”

Irritation flared up in Optimus again. He resisted clenching his servos. “Because, as I stated, Megatron requested that all meetings occur in-person. I do not think that is a hard or unreasonable request for us to fulfill.”

“Why do we even need the Decepticons help in the first place?” another council member asked from their seat. “We can handle the Quintessons on our own and our loses weren’t that severe anyway.”

Rage replaces irritation and bubbles up from Optimus’s tanks. His servos clench fully now. Alpha Trion places a servo on his arm but it’s too late and Optimus is already snapping out, “Do you consider five hundred and thirteen Autobot causalities as being not severe? Or what of the trillions of shanix worth of property damage? How about the medic shortage on Cybertron now that we’ve had to deploy almost every doctor and nurse we have to field hospitals on the two colonies that have been attacked? Or is that how you downplay this whole situation — by talking about what happened as a number instead of as living Cybertronians?”

The council member he snapped at cowered now in their seat and opened their mouth to respond but Optimus continued, “I was there during the battle that occurred on this planet, and had it not been for the Decepticons' help, you would be looking for a new Magnus right now. I saw people die, I watched as the Quintessons brutally massacred everyone they saw, mechs, femmes, younglings, sparklings, the elderly — no one got spared. The fact that this is the second Autobot planet, that they’ve already attacked three Decepticon colonies, means that they are coming for Cybertron. Unless we stop them now, before they can get to another planet and inch closer to our home, we will be losing more innocent lives.”

The room is silent. He’s shaking. Not just his servos but his whole body is trembling. He feels like he needs to cry or scream or something.

He rises, saying, “I apologize for my outburst. I need to excuse myself for a moment.” The sound of Alpha Trion calling his name as he leaves the room is faint in his pounding helm.

How he got outside he doesn’t know. But he ends up there anyway, stumbling into the dense jungle and willing himself to breathe deeply. The trembling of his body subsides and tears roll silently down his cheeks as he continues to walk forward. The last few solar cycles had been rough. Not the roughest he had ever endured, but rough nonetheless.

He stops after ten cycles of walking at the base of a massive tree, gazing up into its wide canopy. The tears have stopped, leaving streaky trails in their wake. The tree is larger than any on Earth that he had encountered but was interestingly similar to those found in their warmer and wetter climates if the nature documentaries Prowl used to watch were to be believed.

Thinking of Prowl makes his tanks twist. He had always envied Prowl for being able to get into trees and perch there like some small mammal. Optimus was always too large and too heavy to do something like that.

But that was for the trees they found on Earth and around Detroit. The ones that only stood a few stories higher than him. This one was at least five times his height and had a thicker trunk. The branches looked thick and sturdy. He could climb this.

He glanced around hesitantly. It would be unbecoming for the Magnus of the Autobots to be caught climbing trees but honestly, frag it all. He had been close to certain death and would be again soon if when the Quintessons attacked again. He deserved to do something ridiculous and harmless and fun.

Finding himself alone, he began climbing slowly. The lumps on the trunk of the tree served as good handholds and he made his way slowly upwards. The first branch loomed above him and he reached out, grabbing it with his arms and pulling himself up onto it. It groaned under his weight and he quickly located the next branch, grabbing it in the same fashion and pulling himself onto it. It responded better, being thicker and able to accommodate his weight. He kept going, from one branch to another.

As he climbed closer to the top, he could hear a familiar sound above him. It took a moment for his processor to identify it but when it did, he froze momentarily. The roaring of jet engines passing above him. Likely the Decepticons out stretching their wings and scouring the planet for any MTO soldiers the Quintessons left behind. He listened for a bit, letting himself get accustomed to the sound before continuing to climb.

He reached as far as he could safely climb, the very top of the tree where the branches all convened together and formed a cup-like area. Beyond that, the branches became too thick or too angled for him to safely climb. Laying down in the cup of the branches he was still relatively covered by the leaves above him but he could see through into the sky.

Another jet engine, this one approaching from his left. He watched intently as the sound grew closer and louder and then smiled giddily as it rocketed past him overhead. The slipstream created caused the branches to rock and leaves to fall down onto him. He had always had a rather treacherous admiration for flight frames if only for the speed and power they had when flying. His own jetpack, although used in the heat of battle, had been an exhilarating experience, one he hoped to relive soon.

The realization that this would make a good reading spot occurred to him. He wished briefly that he had one of his datapads in his subspace but they had all been left in his room.

A glance at his internal chronometer told him that it had been about twenty-seven cycles since he had left the council meeting. He needed to return to the meeting and prepare to meet with the Decepticons.

His climb down was slow and careful, both of his pedes planted firmly on the branches below him as he descended. He was nearly to the last branch when he heard a small gasp nearby.

He whipped his helm towards the location of the sound and saw a flash of purple and black disappear behind the trunk of a neighboring tree. Turning his helm was a mistake as his balance was thrown off and his pedes slipped from the branch he stood on. He reached out with fumbling arms, trying to grab the branch he had been on a moment earlier but he was too far from it. He fell off the tree aft first, landing with a grunt onto his back.

He groaned in pain and rolled over onto his side, slipping a hand against his back and pressing down where it hurt to try and ease some of the pain. His digits didn’t find the familiar warmth of energon so he thanked Primus that at least he wasn’t cut. After a moment he managed to climb to his pedes.

He looked back in the direction he heard the gasp from and seen the colors. There was nothing there and the jungle resumed its quiet ambiance of winds rustling through the leaves and the scuffle of small native organic life through the fallen leaves.

Hesitantly, he turned away and walked back to the ship. 

* * *

Ratchet had scolded him for the injury — “Honestly, Optimus, climbing trees? You’re a grounder! Your frame can’t handle many more falls like that!” — but released him from the med bay, muttering something about young bots thinking they’re invincible and being proven wrong time and time again.

He found the council members who had agreed to come with him to negotiate with the Decepticons in the meeting room as well a few others. Everyone was milling about, chatting, or reading over documents unrelated to the current events.

“Optimus,” Alpha Trion said, approaching him as soon as he walked in, “I am glad to see you back. I would like to apologize on behalf of council members Roadspin and Sunblast.”

“That’s not necessary,” Optimus began but Alpha Trion cut him off with a wave of his servos and a shake of his helm.

“Nonsense, they are council members that I chose myself and brought here. It is my duty to accept responsibility and apologize for their actions.” He looked over the room. “As you can see, we have reduced in numbers. I asked for all members not willing to meet in-person with the Decepticons to return to Cybertron. Luckily, we also gained a few more members to become engaged in negotiations.”

Optimus looked over the room. Seven council members stood before him, some watching him and waiting for directions, others ignoring him for their datapads or gossip. Seven out of the twenty brought over was not a good sign, but at least those seven had shown they were willing to work with him and perhaps even knew how significant their negotiations were.

Optimus nodded again and smiled at Alpha Trion. “Very well. Time to comm Megatron and, as the Earth saying goes, get this party started.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly more of a filler chapter than anything else but since work is starting to get crazy for me I wanted to get this published. The third chapter is almost done and you'll finally be getting Megatron! 
> 
> I also think datapads are a mix of iPads and Kindles. They can contain multiple things, but are used primarily for containing documents and books and (of course) poetry.


	3. Chapter Three

This time, when Optimus commed him, Megatron picked up. 

“Optimus Magnus, what a pleasant surprise,” he purred into the microphone of his video feed with a bit more suaveness than Optimus was used to hearing come from him. He figured he was doing it to try and, as the Earth saying goes, butter him up. (Not that he fully understood how dairy products were involved in trying to win someone’s good favor, but it was a useful expression nonetheless.)

“Lord Megatron, it is good to see you as well,” he responded. They had contacted him over the video feed in the main bridge, Optimus standing before the screen. Alpha Trion and the rest were on the ship they arrived in, awaiting instructions. Like Sentinel had the solar cycle prior, Megatron’s image towered over him. At least this time he was sat back from the camera and thus his shoulders and torso were in view. He was in some sort of office, the shelves behind him filled with datapads, and the one window looking out into the solar system they currently resided in. 

“I am calling you to request that we formally begin negotiations for the ceasefire. With both our terms and conditions approved and our assembled council members, we, the Autobots, are ready to begin.” 

Megatron watched him with a neutral expression before smirking. “How formal of you, Optimus. Is this being recorded and broadcast to Cybertron?” Optimus spluttered for a moment but before he could respond, Megatron waved a servo. “I suppose now is not the time for teasing, considering the circumstances. I have already chosen whom I wish to represent my faction and our various components. We shall be meeting on the _Vengeance_ I presume? Or somewhere on Dromedon?” 

“I had assumed we would be meeting on the diplomat ship that my council members arrived on?” Optimus asked hesitantly. 

Megatron frowned slightly. “What class of ship is it?” 

“Hermes-class ship.” 

The warlord scoffed. “You have got to be joking if you think there is a single place on that ship where ten Decepticons would fit.” 

“Meeting on the _Vengeance_ is not an option,” Optimus said, “It’s too much of a security concern for us.” 

“So is ten of the highest-ranking Decepticons jamming themselves into a ship with space bridge codes on it,” Megatron replied, leaning back in his chair and steepling his digits together. “So, then, we stand at an impasse.” 

Optimus frowned and opened his mouth to snap back when his optics refocused. Beyond Megatron’s image was the main viewing window which displayed to him the field they currently resided in. One of the cities of Dromedon, the third-largest if he remembered correctly, lay just beyond the jungle. It had a few tall buildings, mostly giant warehouses used to store supplies before they were shipped off to Cybertron. 

“How about we meet down here then? In the nearby city?” Optimus asked. “They have warehouses used for storing their products. One of them could either be empty or have enough room for everyone. That way it’s no longer a security threat for any of us.” 

Much to the disdain of Cybertron, the citizens of Dromedon didn't try and hide their appreciation and gratitude to the Decepticons for coming to their aid. Albeit, they did this in a rather Autobot way by simply being willing to exist around the Decepticons and showing them the same common courtesy they would extend to a fellow Autobot. 

The warlord thought this over for a moment, his steepled digits tapping back and forth against themselves rhythmically, before nodding his helm. “Very well. That does indeed seem to be our best option. If you could, call ahead and inform the people of the city of our decision — it would be rather rude to arrive unannounced — and then send me the exact location so we can meet you there. I will need about a megacycle to gather everyone and some tables and chairs.” 

At Optimus’s confused look, Megatron gave him a small smile and said, “Come now, Optimus, you don’t expect us to use Autobot sized chairs, do you?” 

“No, I suppose not…” he muttered before righting himself. “I will send you the location as soon as I have it.” 

“Very good. I will see you soon then, Optimus,” Megatron replied before turning to look off-screen and saying, “Shockwave, call—” 

The call disconnected and Optimus let himself heave a large sigh. His shoulders slumped and he felt the tension begin to slowly ebb out of them. Slowly but surely, progress was being made. 

* * *

“So this one is used mostly for storing organic textiles that we export to different planets. There’s quite the market for it.” The massive rolling door groaned as it lifted slowly into its coiled resting place above them. The mech guiding them stepped into the darkness and momentarily disappeared before the lights lining the ceiling clicked on and illuminated the interior. Crates lined the back of the warehouse and some were placed along the walls here and there but the center was empty. 

“As you can see, we don’t use it as often as the other warehouses,” the mech said, walking into the room. Optimus followed, Alpha Trion meandering behind him. “Since energon and mineral supplements are our main exports and this is more of an occasional thing, there is room to spare. I would also warn you that this warehouse isn’t zoned for energon storage, but I don’t expect your meetings to get too wild.” 

Optimus looked up at the ceiling. It loomed high above them and if he had to guess, it was at least thrice as high as Bulkhead, so the ‘Cons could definitely fit. He glanced over at the door, which he guessed was about twice Bulkhead’s height and thrice his width, so the ‘Cons wouldn’t have to duck or wiggle to get in. If he had to guess, preserving their dignity and not shoving them into a small space was the first step to diplomacy. 

“This is perfect. Thank you again for letting us use this facility,” Optimus said as he smiled at the mech.

The mech returned his smile and waved his servo dismissively. “No need to thank me. Just doing my duty as a citizen and helping those who saved my home.” 

Chairs and tables for them got dragged in and set up in a long line. Optimus briefly entertained the idea of setting them up onto boxes since he believed the Decepticons’ own tables and chairs would tower above them. But it could also send the wrong message so he quickly forgot about it. Council members shuffled in and he swore he heard a few complaints about the dust in the air and the smell of the textiles. Optimus pointedly ignored them and took his seat at the center of the table. 

He had sent the location to Megatron almost two megacycles ago. Could this be some form of power play? Keeping the Autobots waiting like they kept the Decepticons waiting? He really hoped not. The delays were out of his control and if Optimus was ruling everything like a totalitarian dictator this ceasefire would have been created and signed long ago. 

But no. Until Ultra Magnus pulled out of his coma, he promised himself he would rule as gently and with as little damage to everyone as possible. Then, when he passes the mantle back over, it would be like nothing happened. He wanted the exact opposite of what Sentinel had been doing. 

Massive shadows blocked the stream of sunlight that had been pouring in from the open warehouse door. Optimus turned to find Megatron walking in, a chair under one arm and a table under the other. He was followed closely by Shockwave and Lugnut, who seemed to be trying to go through the door at the same time and bickering to each other. Optimus rose from his seat to greet them. 

“Apologies for our tardiness,” he said as he made his way into the room, setting down the table across from Optimus and then the chair. “I had made the mistake of authorizing flight drills a few cycles before you called. By the time I called them back, they were on the opposite side of the planet.” 

Strika had gotten tired of Shockwave and her conjunx’s antics and had grabbed both by the back of their necks and yanked them both out of the doorway, allowing everyone else to slip past them and into the room. The trio shuffled in last, Lugnut’s helm hung in shame, and Optimus swore he heard Strika mutter, “Primus above, you both act like oversized sparklings!” 

Optimus could feel the council members tensing around him as the Decepticons set up their own tables and chairs and began sitting down. Beside him, Alpha Trion remained relaxed and at ease which aided Optimus in taking calming ventilations. 

The sound of shifting tables and chairs being dragged across the floor soon subsided. Megatron shifted a couple of datapads and light pens about in front of him before looking across the table at Optimus and smiling. “Well, now that we have all settled down, shall we proceed?” 

* * *

The setting sun greeted them as they left the warehouse and began heading back to their landing location. The world had been coated in warm hues that reminded Optimus of Earth and its own setting sun. He loved when he had evening patrol and could watch the receding light glint off the glass of the skyscrapers of the city and the oranges and reds fade into blues and purples as night took over. 

He missed Earth. He needed to find an excuse to visit once all of this was over. 

They reached the field and he transformed and stretched. The flyer ‘Cons had already gotten there long before them and were shuffling their way onto the shuttle but the grounders were arriving with the rest of the Autobots. He watched in a mixture of concern and humor as some of the council members flinched away from a transforming Strika and stretching Shockwave. It switched fully to concern as the Decepticon spy made his way over to him with a confident and speedy walk.

He suppressed a shiver of fear from going down his spine and looked up to face the mech. “Shockwave, is there something you require of me?” 

The spy looked down at him and quickly glanced behind him at the shuttle. There were still ‘Cons milling about outside of it but Megatron was absent, likely already inside. He turned back and reached into his subspace. 

Optimus instinctively reached for his axe. Shockwave’s servo froze and he scoffed, “Relax, Autobot, if I wanted you offline I would have done it already.” 

His servo did not leave his axe handle until Shockwave’s reappeared. He was holding a datapad. Optimus relaxed and let his servos return to his sides. 

“When Strika mentioned that you had been able to repair our datapad, I thought she was lying or at least exaggerating. But then I saw it for myself. You did an amazing job on it.” He extended his servo and offered the datapad to Optimus. “I had hoped you would be able to lend your services to us once again.” 

Optimus’s optics widened at the sight of the datapad. It was by far in the worst condition he had ever seen one in and he was almost certain he had seen datapads in better shape on the belt for the incinerator. The glass screen was shattered and wholly missing in some places, the metal backing was dented all over, the backlight lit only half the screen, and rust bloomed across the metal casing. 

“This has got to be the worst condition I have ever seen a datapad in,” he muttered, more to himself than Shockwave. He carefully took it, wincing at the shards of glass that fell out. “What’s on it?” 

“Nothing important — a collection of short stories and poems. Of course, it’s not the contents that matter, but rather the history of the datapad. It’s from long before the war and was considered old long before the first bombs dropped.” Optimus listened as he flipped it around in his servos. On the back of the datapad, he could see faint glyphs that were wearing off, faintly spelling out _PR PERTY F E LIBR Y O_ _ KAON CI Y ST TE.  _

Shockwave continued, “Think of it as a challenge. If you can fix this datapad, then you can fix any of them.” 

“And what do I get in return for acting as your repair bot?” Optimus asked with a bit more snark than necessary. 

“From me, and for the datapads I bring to you, I am willing to negotiate anything, within reason of course,” Shockwave replied. At his odd look, he explained, “Obviously no military secrets, no research progress, nothing like that. But I have other resources I am willing to pay you with like shanix, high grade, oil, certain datapads, and other types of items. For this datapad, inform me of what payment you would want after completion and I will provide.” 

Optimus stared down at the datapad for a moment before nodding. “Very well. I can't guarantee when it will be done considering we do have our servos full.” 

“As I said, a challenge, one without constraints. Take your time, Optimus. And I have included my comm line number in the contents of the datapad so you can contact me when it is completed. Have a good rest of your cycle.” With that, Shockwave turned from him and rejoined the ‘Cons standing next to the shuttle. 

Optimus noticed then that Strika was watching him, only looking away from him when Shockwave drew near to her. From this distance, he couldn’t read her expression, and that worried him. 

“Optimus?” 

He turned at the sound of his voice to find Bumblebee standing on the extended ramp to Omega Supreme. They were the only Autobots left standing in the field. 

“You coming, bossbot?” Bumblebee asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. He glanced back to find the ‘Cons gone as well. He slipped the datapad into his subspace and followed the scout into the ship. 

They ended up in the mess hall where everyone else sat together at two tables shoved together. Jazz and Bulkhead had their helms thrown back in a laugh at something Arcee said that had made Ratchet blush. He got a cube and sat down at the end of the table. 

“How did negotiations go today?” Arcee asked. 

Optimus looked up from his energon to find everyone staring at him intently. “It went pretty well,” he said, taking a swig. Once he swallowed, he continued, “We made some major progress. The document is about halfway done. There was some arguing, and every time one of the ‘Cons moved too quickly a couple of the council members would visibly flinch.” That was a lie — almost all of them would flinch when that happened and Optimus could see the annoyance and disdain building in the ‘Cons’ expressions every time. 

“The main point remaining is whether or not this ceasefire would allow the Decepticons back on Cybertron once everything is said and done. You can probably guess how well the council took that request,” he said, taking another swig of his energon. 

“You’re not seriously arguing for the ‘Cons to be let back on Cybertron are you?” Bumblebee asked incredulously. 

Optimus paused with his cube mid-air and thought for a moment. Most of his work during meetings at this point was concerned with keeping the peace and making sure no one shot anyone else. Well, no Decepticons shot any Autobots or vice versa. If the Decepticons wanted to go after each other, he wouldn’t be risking his spark to stop it. But in regards to what he wanted, he honestly wasn’t sure. He wanted Cybertron and all of its colonies to remain safe and he wanted the number of lives lost to remain as low as possible. 

“Maybe not to allow them back on Cybertron, but likely make amends to the Tyrest Accord. The main complaint about the Accord was that while Decepticons were granted amnesty, they were still barred from Autobot controlled colonies and ports, and often arrested and held without trial. Which we did pretty recently, and they were not happy about that,” Optimus admitted. 

“So? Autobots aren’t welcome on anything controlled by Decepticons either,” Ratchet said. 

“That would also be changed. The current proposal is that Decepticons would be allowed everywhere but Cybertron and Autobots would be allowed everywhere but New Kaon. If something happens that warrants a trial, like a fight, the trial would have to have both Decepticon and Autobot representatives and could not be held on either Cybertron or New Kaon,” Optimus explained. All of the Decepticons had agreed to it, but it was his side that they were having trouble with. The council members had argued that this was all a ruse for them to take Cybertron and that even allowing Decepticons on their colonies would be too much to allow. Never mind that they were sitting on a colony that they had saved and hadn’t needed to. 

That’s when Optimus had asked Megatron if they could adjourn for the solar cycle and resume tomorrow. It was a combination of the weariness settling into his frame and the concern over the slowly building looks of rage the Decepticon were casting across the tables at them. 

Megatron’s own murderous look dissolved instantly when Optimus spoke to him and he instead smiled slightly. “Of course. It is getting late and night flying can be dangerous, especially on a planet like this.” The sound of chairs scraping across the floor had filled the room and nearly drowned out Megatron asking Optimus, “I presume we can leave the furniture here until all of our meetings are done?” 

Optimus nodded and the warlord departed, pushing his chair in as he left. He was the last Decepticon out of the room, leaving them all alone, the sounds of transforming and jet turbines and rumbling engines filtering in from outside. He gave Alpha Trion a weary look as their own council members got up and stretched and began to grumble about the proceedings of the day. 

“I’ll talk to them all tonight,” the mech had promised. “I will be sure to remind everyone of the reason we are here and how dire the situation is so that a blunder like that doesn’t happen again and ruin the civility of the negotiations.” 

“Thank you,” Optimus said, following Alpha Trion out the door and into the sunset. He heard the mech who had given them the warehouse come out of his office and slide the door down, the heavy clunk of the lock being the last thing he heard as he started on the road back to Omega. 

“I think those are pretty good additions.” Jazz’s voice snapped Optimus out of his memory and back into the present. “A little lax but not too bad.” 

“I don’t know. Seems like letting them off kinda easy,” Bumblebee muttered into his energon. 

Before the discussion could devolve into an argument, Optimus excused himself and retreated to his quarters. 

* * *

The datapad lay before him. More shards of glass had slipped from the screen and onto his desk and floor. He didn’t even know really where to start with it but figured getting the shattered screen and backlight fixed first would be best and then he could tackle the other cosmetic damages. Hopefully, the software was fine as well since he didn’t know how to fix any of that. 

The remaining glass popped out in shards and he managed to direct them into the waste bin by his desk. Prying up the contact board came next; disconnecting it as carefully as possible to reveal the lighting system that lay behind it. That came out as well and it only took a quick look to see that flickering came from a poor connection with the power system. 

He restored the connection and checked the power system. The battery was working fine but it could use a charge. He rearranged everything into its proper place and smiled to himself as the new glass screen locked into place. He turned it over, examining the dents on the back. He could try to suction them out but that would risk damaging the internal components if done improperly. Looking at them more, he decided they posed no long-term threat to the datapad and let them be. 

Instead, he grabbed a cleaning brush and rust dissolver and set to work getting rid of the rust all over the metal. This was more of a cosmetic step than anything else, but he had always worried about the possibility of rust creeping into datapads and destroying them from the inside out. 

When he was done, he hooked up the charging cord and beamed as the backlight came on fully. He opened it, noticing only one file on it. He stared down at it inquisitively, opening the file. On paper, what he was doing was to ensure the connections had been properly made and that the whole screen would respond to touch. Personally, he really wanted to dive into whatever he had been entrusted with. 

The etchings on the back of the datapad referenced the Library of Kaon, a location that disappeared early in the war, reduced to a pile of smoldering ash and dust from multiple well-placed bombs. It was often considered to be the tipping point for the Decepticons invading Iacon and taking control of Protihex. He had read something about it being compared to the Great Purge as it wiped out millions of datapads, many of which were first edition copies and could never be recovered. 

Optimus flipped through the beginning of the document idly. There was a foreword from the head librarian explaining that this was a collection of poetry, short stories, and essays, all published by Kaonian or Tarnish poets or authors, all written within a certain period of each other and that this was the third in a series of collections, all created with the intention of preserving their history. 

The mech glanced at the publication date. Twenty stellar cycles later, the library would explode. He wondered if there was a fourth collection and if it, or those that proceeded it, survived. 

A table of contents followed and he read down the list when he felt his spark freeze up in its casing. 

Swiftsteel was listed four different times, all of them for works he had never heard of before. Three were listed under the poetry section and one under the essay section. 

“Holy frag,” he muttered and tapped on one of the poems to have it jump to that section. Sure enough, he had never read it before. He scanned the lines and was tempted to jump right into reading it but refrained when he glanced at his chronometer. It was getting late and they would be meeting with the Decepticons early the next solar cycle. After the mess he endured today, he could use all the recharge he could get. 

The datapad got left on his desk to charge. His dreams that night were unremarkable. 

* * *

Optimus woke earlier than the rest and when retrieving his morning cube, was greeted by a surprise he had never expected to see: a smattering of Decepticons hunched over tables in the mess hall, Arcee sitting in the center of them all. 

“Good morning,” he called out as he approached. Everyone’s helms rose and turned to him. 

Arcee smiled at him and gave a small wave. “Good morning Optimus. I apologize for not asking permission before letting everyone onboard, but we got quite the shock early this morning.” She had scooted over on the bench to allow him to sit down beside her. 

In the center of the table was on large datapad surrounded by multiple other smaller datapads. The big one had a map of the universe displayed on it and each smaller datapad contained a section of the map, zoomed in and with notes written on the image. 

Arcee pointed at one of the planets on the map. “Early this morning, we got news that one of the Decepticon planets that was previously attacked is under attack again from what they described as the ‘reanimated corpses’ of the MTO Quintessons soldiers. Decepticon forces were dispatched to aid in destroying them completely. We are awaiting a call to find out how resilient the soldiers were and if this could become a problem on every planet they’ve been on.” 

One of the Decepticons said, “We may have to smelt their bodies instead of recycling their parts. The only issue is that the only Decepticon smelting pools large enough to handle that much metal are on Lucifer, which is pretty fragging far away.” 

Optimus nodded, listening to this. “Was Megatron also dispatched to the attacked planet?” 

The Decepticon nodded. 

The mech sighed. “I’ll call Omnitron and inform them to be wary of the bodies. We’ll have to also keep an optic on the bodies we have here to ensure they don’t reanimate as well.” 

Most of the rest of the day was consumed with calls and check-ins, trying to figure out why the bodies were reanimating and what to do with them. The council members were dismayed to find out that the negotiations were delayed. They all waited to hear back from their science team on what crime against Primus had allowed the dead to rise up and continue their battles. 

The afternoon inched around and with nothing to do but wait, Optimus decided to carve some time out for himself. He grabbed the datapad he had repaired and headed into the jungle, in search of the tree he had found a solar cycle prior. It stood there still, the same as before. The climb went quicker, likely because he knew the way up now, and soon he was back in the wooden cradle at the top, staring up at the leaves and listening to sounds of the life around him. 

He let out a relieved sigh and dove into the datapad. Swiftsteel’s words stuck to him as they had previously, embedding themselves into his processor. He found himself muttering some of the lines as he had with the other works, trying to commit them to memory. The three poems were shorter than the rest, but that made sense, as they only had to fill about ten pages rather than one hundred. The essay was in opposition to the proposed Decepticon Registration Act and criticizing how warframes were inherently seen as dangerous and stupid, so much so that they could not attend certain academies or join certain workforces. It would have been an excellent find when he was in the Academy, but Optimus could also see why the Academy never kept this particular essay around for students to find. 

He finished the last page as the sun dipped below the horizon and the jungle grew incredibly dark. Optimus’s descent from the tree was slow, impeded by his caution. 

When his pedes hit the ground, he turned his brights on and began walking back to Omega. He went slowly again, worried about tripping over something or stepping on a creature. His servo brushed against a tree trunk and he recoiled at the sensation of something sticky. 

He yanked his servo into the beams of his headlights and found a white webby substance hanging from his digits. The memory of Archa Seven and its massive spiders, and of Blackarachnia and the same webby substance she used to ensnare people in, came rushing to him then. Could Dromedon have massive spiders on it? Surely it couldn’t be Blackarachnia. Not if she had somehow survived an explosion that wiped out half an island. 

Optimus glanced around the darkness once more and felt a shiver race down his spine. He quickened his pace and when he reached the warm and inviting lights of Omega, he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. 

* * *

The Decepticons returned in the afternoon of the next solar cycle, around the same time their science team reported that the MTO soldiers likely had some sort of dormant reanimating code in them that would activate a few solar cycles after death. Megatron called Optimus long enough to inform him that they would be disposing of the bodies and parts collected of the MTO soldiers in the smelting pools on Lucifer and that he would be willing to do the same with the ones on Autobot planets as well. 

“Of course, we do need everyone’s approval, so we can discuss this at our meetings. Which we can hopefully resume tomorrow?” Megatron asked. 

But Optimus knew it wasn’t a question and it only sounded like a question for diplomatic reasons. He didn’t push it though, seeing as how Megatron had called him from the bridge so he got a full view of the dents and scratches in his armor and the way Blitzwing limped as he walked past behind his leader. However bad Optimus thought the battle to be, it had likely been worse. 

“Yes, of course. Tomorrow morning,” Optimus replied. 

Megatron gave him an appreciative smile he had never expected to see on the warlord’s face, one that under other circumstances could have even likely made Optimus flush pink. “I will see you then, Optimus Magnus.” 

The mech was glad that Megatron ended the call then because the usage of his full title did make his cheeks go pink. He gave himself a minute to compose himself again before leaving the bridge to update everyone. 

Alpha Trion had joined Arcee’s circle of Decepticons, which had since taken over the conference room. He could see then, from the way many of them had to sit on the floor and hunch over the table, why Megatron had been adamant for a non-Autobot meeting location. 

“Ah, Optimus. Good to see you. I must say, I have never such fantastic cartography in many stellar cycles. Well, I suppose this isn’t cartography, but it is still amazing nonetheless,” he said as he gestured to everyone in the room. “I am getting a bit off-topic though. Do you require my assistance?” 

Optimus shook his helm. “No, just came in the let you know that negotiations will resume tomorrow morning. From the looks of it, the battle was rough.” 

One of the Decepticons, without even looking up for their map, snorted and said, “That’s putting it lightly. I heard Blitzwing got one of his legs ripped off at the knee and then had to shove it back into place and hold it together with shoddy welding and prayers to Primus.” 

Ah. So that explained the limp Optimus had seen. 

“Yes, well, that does sound like they need all the rest they can get,” Alpha Trion replied coolly. “I shall inform the council members on your behalf.” 

Optimus thanked him and left. With the rest of the day stretched out before him and open, he thought of what he could do. He thought then of the datapad he had repaired and realized he should probably return it as soon as possible. 

He commed Shockwave and asked him to meet him in the field their shuttles were resting in. Optimus got there before him, watching as Shockwave walked over, Strika following behind him. They had their own fair share of dents and scratches and blaster burns but luckily weren’t limping. 

Optimus pulled out the datapad and held it out before him without a word. 

Shockwave took it and stood in shocked silence, staring down at the datapad in his servos. “It only took you two solar cycles?” 

Optimus shrugged. “More or less.” 

Shockwave handed it off to Strika whose optics were blown wide in surprise. “This is the one from the Kaonian library?” 

“Some of the glyphs are missing off the back from when I was removing the rust. I also read through part of it to check for sensitivity issues.” That was partially a lie but Optimus was trying to save face as much as he could. 

Shockwave had gotten the datapad back and looked at the mech now, saying, “You did an exceptional job. Have you thought about what you would like as payment?” 

Optimus shook his helm. He hadn’t given much thought to that and when it came down to it, the only thing he wanted was more datapads to read, which he would not be confessing to a Decepticon, especially the head of their intelligence division. 

Shockwave thought for a moment before asking, “You said you read this — did you enjoy it?” 

Optimus nodded. 

Shockwave held out the datapad for him to take. “Here, take it as your payment.” 

The mech stared at the datapad for a moment before shaking his helm slowly, saying, “I can’t. You said yourself that this thing is old.” 

“Which is precisely why you should have it. None of us are using it and it would be safer with you since you know how to care for your datapads.” Shockwave extended the datapad farther out and closer to him. “So take it.” 

Optimus glanced between him and the datapad, also glancing at Strika, whom he thought would be furious at the idea of an Autobot keeping a historical Decepticon datapad. Instead, she simply nodded, saying, “For once, I agree with Shockers here. It’s better off with you. And don’t look at it like that! It’s not a trap, Autobot.” 

He took it, grasping it with both servos, and said, “Thank you.” 

“I must say, I am surprised that you took the time to read it. I had believed that Autobots didn’t divulge in Decepticon literature,” Shockwave commented, staring at him with what Optimus thought could be a look of curiosity if he could emote. 

“No offense, but there’s not much else to read on board,” he replied. “And I have a weak spot for pre-war literature and poetry. I had to write a report on it once and that’s how I found one of my favorite writers.” Optimus hesitated from saying the word poet. He felt there was a certain amount of judgement that came from admitting that someone had a favorite poet and the essay he had found on there to be penned by Swiftsteel also revealed to him there was more to their writing than he initially thought. 

“Interesting. I must say I find I am more of a fan of post-war works. I did enjoy many of the novels I obtained while undercover on Cybertron, even if some of them did contain blatant propaganda. Still somewhat compelling,” Shockwave said, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“Primus, we almost lost you to them, didn’t we, Shockers? Nearly sucked into the Autobot cause by a couple of datapads!” Strika laughed, nudging Shockwave in the side a bit harder than necessary. He seemed to glower at her but she ignored it and turned to Optimus instead, saying, “We have more on the _Vengeance_ we need you to repair. If you fix them, we can pay you in loaned and copied datapads if you’re truly into pre-war stuff. Or shanix or high grade, if you change your mind about your payment methods. And of course, any of them that you fix you can read. Sound good?” 

Optimus nodded, replying, “That sounds great actually, thank you. I can start taking some of them whenever, but the repairs could take a while.” 

“Outside of the Quints rearing their ugly faces again, we have all the time in the universe, so it’s no rush.” She paused, thinking, before saying, “There’s so many, we could start anywhere, so let’s start with something you would enjoy. Do you have a favorite author?” 

Optimus perked up. He had never told anyone about Swiftsteel since their existence in the universe seemed to be only on dusty old datapads. Since their alignment couldn’t be identified, he hesitated from talking about them to other Autobots, for fear that they were some big secret that needed to be covered up and snuffed out of existence and the mention of their name could cause his own copies of their poetry to be eradicated. But mentioning the name to Decepticons seemed to be okay. After all, if Swiftsteel was a Decepticon, they would be revered, and if they were a nobody Neutral or an Autobot lost to time, then the worst that could happen could be that they know about them or roll their optics at the silly little Autobot and his fanatical favorites. 

“Yes, but I think it’s a pen name. They go by Swiftsteel and I mostly know them for their poetry.” 

As soon as the name left his mouth Shockwave’s and Strika’s optics both widened and Optimus guessed that if they had mouths, they would’ve dropped open. Okay, so Swiftsteel was not well regarded by the Decepticons. 

Strika recovered first, returning her face back to its usual cool expression and she asked, “How do you know that name?” 

“I, uh, I found a bunch of their poetry in the Elite Guard library back when I was in the academy. It was for that report I told you about,” he replied slowly, still watching their faces for any signs of anger or surprise. 

Shockwave had broken out of his shock as well and shook his helm. “Swiftsteel’s work being stored in the Elite Guard’s library. Not even Primus would have seen that coming,” he said, a slight laugh in his voice. 

“Do you two know anything about Swiftsteel?” Optimus said. He didn’t allow any hint of hope to slip into his voice. Their reactions were still what he would consider not great. 

Strika laughed, loud and gleefully. “Oh, we know a lot about him! We go way back!” 

It was Shockwave’s turn to jab her in the side, and very hard based on her sharp shriek of pain. “Yes, we know who Swiftsteel is. It is just a surprise to us that you knew the name as he has not published anything since the beginning of the war and he was not well regarded by the Autobots of the time. There is a healthy amount of humorous irony in finding out that the leader of the Autobots now is a fan of his works. And it is indeed a pen name.” 

Optimus let some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. At least whoever Swiftsteel was, they were on the Decepticon’s side, or at least well regarded by them. “Do you know if he’s still alive?” 

“Last I checked his turbines were still spinning,” Strika chuckled, getting her another jab in the side from Shockwave, which she managed to block by batting his arm away from her. 

“Swiftsteel is still online but he has retired from writing and requested that we no longer call upon him anymore,” Shockwave explained. “The work he did for us and the Decepticon cause prior to and at the beginning of the war granted him his leave. Alas, much of his work has been lost to time or battlefields, so treasure what you have.” 

Optimus wilted a bit at the words. Not enough for them to notice though. “Ah. Oh well.” 

“Now, if you will excuse us, we need to get going. We have a, uh, meeting starting in oh, about three cycles.” Shockwave turned suddenly and started retreating to their shuttle. 

Strika sighed heavily at his retreating form and turned to Optimus. “Don’t worry. Just because he’s not writing now doesn’t mean he didn’t write a lot before he retired. I’m sure we have copies on the _Vengeance_. I’ll look for you and be in contact, okay?” 

“Thank you. But I do have one question,” he replied. 

Strika had turned halfway to go to the ship and paused, waiting for his question. 

“Why’re you helping me?” 

She paused in thought for a moment before replying, “Because out all of the Autobots I have had to deal with in recent stellar cycles, I hate you the least.” 

“Uh, thank you?” he replied. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied before turning and heading off to the ship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this chapter is getting to everyone. I got some bad professional news recently and I ended up in a bit of a slump. I've since clawed my way out of it and have this chapter ready for everyone! It is quite longer than usual but I figured since you had to wait why not give you a really long chapter? Not sure when the next one will be out, but it will be shorter than this one.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the new tags I added. If you think this warrants a bump up in the rating, please let me know!

Day two of negotiations was beautifully productive until midday. 

The final draft sat there on the table, waiting patiently for signatures to confirm its existence in legal spaces. As was traditional, signatures had to be given from lowest-ranking to highest-ranking officers, meaning it had to go back to Cybertron to receive signatures from everyone else on the council before it could come back to Optimus and receive his. 

Megatron had rolled his optics and muttered, “Just like the Tyrest Accord,” as he handed the datapad back to Optimus. 

Realization hit Optimus as he took it. When the draft got sent to Cybertron, Optimus knew he was about to be launched into megacycles of arguments and questions and bickering. Everything would come to a halt yet again and they still had no clue when, where, or if the Quintessons would attack again. 

There had to be something they could do in the meantime. He just didn’t know what. 

“I believe one other issue that we had to discuss today was regarding the smelting of the remaining Quintesson soldiers,” Megatron said, snapping Optimus out of his thoughts. 

“Ah, yes,” he replied, setting the datapad down on the table. 

“Initially I proposed the idea of taking all of the remaining bodies and parts to the smelting pools on Lucifer. However, considering how far that is from here, and we are working within a time constraint, I would like to propose another option, which could continue to aid this planet long after we are gone,” Megatron said. 

Optimus tilted his helm to indicate that he should continue.

“I wanted to propose building smelting pools here to handle the bodies and to aid in the industrial activities of this planet,” Megatron suggested. “We know how to do it and you have the resources to make them.” 

Optimus thought it over for a moment before saying, “I don’t think Dromedon would have the correct climate nor need for it. However, Omnicron could have the right climate and industry for it. I would need to check with the planet to ensure this, but if the climate does work, then we could begin on them today.” 

Megatron smiled. “Excellent.” 

* * *

“A smelting pool? That would be a nice addition, especially as it would enhance our ore extraction process.” The head of Omnicron is displayed on the vidfeed screen on Omega. “It would also be nice for us to get rid of those bodies at last, as well Dromedon’s. We would be able to keep it once they were all gone?” 

“That’s the plan. You would have to have a team be trained in the operation and maintenance of it, but once you do, it’s all yours,” Optimus replied. “The Decepticons would be the ones aiding in construction and training, alongside other Autobots. You would be okay with this arrangement?” 

“Of course! They are the ones who saved our skidplates!” the leader replied, laughing at his own comment. But Optimus could see how the laugh carried with it some sadness. He suspected this leader wasn't the leader a few decacycles prior. 

“Good. A team will be sent over there soon. We are arranging shipments of materials to you and the bodies from Dromedon will be shipped over once the smelting pool is operating,” Optimus said. 

“I will be awaiting your next orders, Magnus.” With a salute, he disconnects. 

Optimus gives himself a moment to rest. It gets interrupted by the sound of Bumblebee in the hallway calling out, “Bossbot! We need your help coordinating!” 

He pops out into the hallway, finding the scout at the end of it, looking around for him. “Where’s everyone meeting, Bee?” 

“Conference room. Arcee's in there,” he replied, “She says she needs you in there for coordination and final say.” 

He went there, finding her at the table with her usual gaggle of Decepticons, all of them hunched over their datapads. Among them were his crew, some Decepticons he had never seen before and, to his surprise, Strika, all talking about materials needed and who could take what. He approached Arcee, announcing his presence by asking, “Do we need Omega to help take some of the supplies?” 

Arcee looked over her shoulder, scooting over on her seat to make room for him. “I think we will. We need a couple of tons of compressed carbon to get the fire going and keep it going before we can reroute geothermal heat to sustain it. The only colony capable of providing it is Salvvatan VI, which shouldn’t take too long to get to if we use the space bridges. But with everyone else going everywhere else to get the other materials, and considering we would need to leave some of our fleet behind to protect the planet, it’s looking like Omega and I will have to make a trip there.” 

“You’re going alone?” Optimus asked, frowning slightly. Solo cargo hauls were unheard of. Beyond the obvious issue of bandits, there was the secondary issue of multiple things going wrong on a ship all at once—engine failure in different areas, cargo door malfunctions, debris smashes into the glass—and only have one set of servos to fix it. 

“I’ll have to since it looks like everyone else will need to do other stuff,” she replied. She grabs one of the datapads off the table and hands it to him. “Here’s a quick rundown of everything we’ve talked about so far. Bulkhead is needed to aid in construction and for finding where to put the smelting pits, since he’s highest-ranking with any amount of engineering knowledge, and he wants Bumblebee to help him with the math and be his scribe. Jazz already agreed to take the twins and one of the other ships and retrieve the supplies needed to build the actual structures. Ratchet has to remain on standby in case of a medical emergency. And none of the diplomats want to help, except for Alpha Trion, who agreed to help with communicating with Omnicron and ensuring everything goes smoothly over there.” 

She paused, tapping her stylus against the table in a quick rhythm. “That leaves you and me. And I have to go get the carbon. It's your choice whether you come with me or do something else.” 

“I’m going with you,” he said, “you’re not doing that haul alone. It’s too dangerous.” 

She looked as if she was about to protest so he continued, “There are a thousand and one things that can go wrong. I would feel better knowing you had someone with you. And I know this ship, I know how it handles, I can help if something happens.” 

Arcee still looked conflicted but nodded, saying, “You are in charge, so if that’s your call, then we’ll do it.” She grabbed another datapad, handing it to him. “You will need to sign off everything though.” 

Optimus took it and a stylus, reading everything before scratching his signature on each blank line. He glanced up at one point to see Strika staring at him. She looked away when she noticed him, going back to being hunched over construction plans and scratching some notes on them. He chalked her staring up to inquisitiveness and resumed his reading. 

* * *

Salvvatan VI was a quick space bridge flight away. They had called ahead and had the shipment ready to be loaded when they got there. Optimus and Arcee took the loading time to get off the ship and stretch their limbs, staring out at the rocky mountain ranges of the planet. 

“It’s odd — they look like Earth’s mountains,” Optimus comments. “Or, I guess, mountains always look like mountains, regardless of the planet you’re on.” 

Arcee smirks. “Maybe. Or maybe they do actually look like Earth’s mountains. I always found it so interesting, the coincidence of our alt modes looking so much like the humans’ transportation vehicles. It made me wonder if any of us had encountered humans millennia before and influenced the design of their vehicles. Or if it was pure coincidence.” 

“Maybe your next career could be archeology or archaeometry,” Optimus said. “Seems you’ve got the interest in it.” 

Arcee chuckles. “No, no, I love teaching too much for all that. I’m excited to be back in the classroom once everything has calmed down.” 

When Omega was done being loaded, they got back on, taking off smoothly. Salvvatan VI was still huge in their rearview when the console on the bridge beeped with an incoming call. Arcee took it, being brief with the bot on the other end. When she disconnected, she heaved an annoyed sigh. 

“We’re going to be getting to Omnicron later than expected,” Arcee announced as she turned away from the console. “The space bridge we used earlier is being used by a freighter. They said it'll take them about twenty cycles to clear it and get it ready for us to go through.” 

He nodded in confirmation and stared out the window at the stars around them. They twinkled as small white pinpricks far off in other galaxies he had likely never been to before. He wondered which of them were the suns powering individual solar systems and which were lone suns and which were the final light of dying stars. 

Arcee had risen as well and made her way closer to the window, holding a datapad and stylus in her servos. She alternated between looking out at the stars and jotting down something on the datapad. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Checking my star maps and writing down each star I see with my own optics. It’s like a hobby of mine and it’s not every solar cycle you end up in this quadrant,” she replied as she wrote out a note about one of the stars. “Do you have any hobbies?” 

Optimus was taken aback by the question. Hobbies weren’t really a thing among Autobots. He was surprised to see how much humans were into them and how quickly his team picked them up when they were there. Bumblebee still bemoaned the loss of his precious gaming system and Bulkhead was desperately trying to find something resembling paint and canvases. He supposed he could consider his reading a hobby, albeit not a super involved one. 

“I read,” he admitted. “I haven’t had too much time for it recently, but that’s what I tend to do when I have some downtime.” 

“Ooh, anything in particular?” she asked, smiling softly at him. Sari had once referred to her as being like a "badass grandma," whatever that meant. 

He contemplated telling her about Swiftsteel, but having found out that he was Deception made him shake his helm and lie, saying, “No, I’ll usually read whatever’s available.” 

“I may have some recommendations for you when we get back to Cybertron,” Arcee said. “Before the war, I had a couple authors I was following, but I usually had to stay to literature for younger readers since that’s who I was teaching.” 

“I’d love to hear them,” he said. Her casual mention of Cybertron still felt so foreign to him, especially after spending extensive time in space repairing space bridges and then getting stuck on Earth hunting down Cons and helping the humans. Cybertron hadn’t felt like a home to return to in millennia. 

A comfortable silence fell over them as she turned back to the windows, examining the stars and jotting down her notes. He watched her for a moment before wandering away and into the rest of the ship. He’s not sure he would ever get over how surreal it was that this ship, which he had known for so long to be the Orion, was a fully functioning, fully sentient being, and the last of Project Omega. He hadn’t had a full conversation with Omega Supreme yet but he had overheard Ratchet and Arcee talking to him plenty of times. It disturbed him to find out that Omega’s slow responses and simple processing power were programmed into him and that it was supposed to be what had been referred to as “anti-mutiny precaution.” 

He made his way to his room, contemplating getting a couple of megacycles of recharge before they got to Omnicron. He hoped they had some of the work done, at least a site picked out. He appreciated Bulkhead’s knowledge and integrity a lot, but he could be a bit of a perfectionist when it came to engineering projects. 

His ped was on the threshold when the alarm started blaring. Red lights flashed in time with the claxon and he turned on his heel, racing to the bridge. He found Arcee standing at the main console and followed her gaze to the windows. A Quintesson soldier shuttle sat outside their ship, soldiers peeling off it and flying in a curve towards them. 

“We’re under attack!” Arcee shouted. 

“Where are they headed?” he shouted back, drawing his axe. 

“I don’t know, none of them have landed on us yet. I’m sending an SOS signal now—” A loud boom broke her off and they felt Omega shake beneath them. “They breached the hull of the cargo bay — they’re headed for the carbon!” 

Optimus didn’t hesitate, taking off for the cargo bay, running as fast as he could. He was reminded suddenly of his first encounter with Megatron when he was blasting his way into Omega to get the AllSpark. Here he was again, running through the corridors to patch a hole in the hull and fight off invaders. He wondered how many times in his life he would do this. 

The soldiers had broken through by then and gotten close enough to the hallway for Optimus to swing at one, slashing gracefully through its neck. He managed to sidestep and avoid the combination of green goop and its fists as it tumbled to the ground dead. He swings at another, taking its arms off in one sweep. Another soldier gained a deep gash in its shoulder that nearly severed its arm from its body. 

Optimus has made his way into the bay, fending them off from entering the hallway. The goo makes the floor slick and he stumbles, missing his next target and embedding his axe into the floor instead. He has to roll away from the downward swing of a soldier, its mace implanting itself into the space Optimus had been occupying mere klicks before. He spins to grab his axe when he hears blaster fire hit the wall behind him. 

Without thinking, he abandons his axe and dives behind empty crates for cover. He silently thanks Primus for the blaster he had added to his hip specifically for this trip. He’s not one for blaster fire, but he figured better safe than sorry. 

A quick glance behind his cover reveals that the soldiers aren’t taking anything yet, and instead are grabbing their dead and wounded and pulling them back behind their ranks. Optimus frowns at the sight. They had never done something like that before. Perhaps, he thought, these were a different type of MTOs? 

He took their brief distraction to roll out from behind his cover, grabbing his axe off the floor, and shoot off counterfire. He ran again for his cover, but slipped and stumbled again in the goo, slowing his travel. 

A blaster shot collided with Optimus’s side and he screamed out in pain. He could feel the heat from it expanding out within him and melting his internals. His servos were shaking as he rose his blaster and fired off counterfire. The stench of melting armor and liquified wiring drifts up to his olfactory system. His vision was swimming and he could feel his body leaning heavily to the left. Faintly he could hear Arcee screaming in the comm system for help. 

Optimus manages to make it the rest of his journey and stumble into a labyrinth of crates. They shield him from fire as he places a servo on the wall and leans against it. He reaches down, tentatively touching his wound. Heat is still seeping from it and fuel is pouring in rivulets down his side, creating a small puddle on the floor. He looks down at it and has to suppress a gag. It’s bad — he swears he can see his fuel pump poking out of the gore at him. 

He blasts an SOS message to everyone on his comms and places his other servo on the wall. The world is tilting around him and darkness begins to tinge the edges of his vision. The sound of his vents almost completely blocks out the world around him, but faintly he can hear the sound of more fire, this kind coming from a different kind of blaster, different from the enemies and his own. It’s soon replaced with the sound of metal slicing through metal and soon the world goes quiet. 

“Optimus?” 

His name is called out from somewhere, maybe somewhere nearby, maybe somewhere far away. He feels his legs buckle beneath him and he nearly collides with the ground. Someone stops him, a gray arm encircling his torso and bringing him close to a warm chassis. He realizes then that he feels cold — could it have been because the hull had been ripped open? — and draws close to the chassis. 

Faintly he can hear someone yelling again but he cannot make out the words beyond a few like “medic,” “emergency,” and one phrase, which is “for the love of Primus, dock 64G is the only one big enough!” 

Another arm encircles him and he is brought closer to the chassis, which he would be ashamed to admit he curled even tighter into. The voice comes closer then, whispering, “Hold on, little Autobot.”

He can feel their speed increase and the cold vacuum of space and then he loses all consciousness and lets himself be overtaken by the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block hit me like a runaway train! I had the last half of this chapter and all of chapter five done but I could not figure out the first half of this chapter for the life of me. I feel like the first half of this chapter is a little weak since I really just wanted to get to the second half of the chapter. 
> 
> I also realized I've never said this publicly so here goes: I do accept constructive criticism! If you see something in this work that you think needs work or to be fixed a bit, please let me know! I just ask that you be polite about it :) 
> 
> Anyway, chapter five is 95% done so it'll be out soon!


	5. Chapter Five

Flashes of reality came to him here and there. 

He remembers being laid down onto a stretcher and bright lights looming over his helm, flooding his optics with too much light. Someone leaned over him, someone whose face he couldn’t make out because of the lights, but whose thin, spindly purple digits, which were curled around the breathing mask he recognized. Their voice, which quietly said, “Primus, he’s in bad shape,” he knew from long ago. The stripe of gold standing out from the black and the purple on the top of their servo also looked eerily familiar. Then the world goes silent and blank again. 

The next flash of memory comes later on, when he’s numb from the drugs, and that familiar voice is saying, “What’s the ETA on that medic getting here?” 

Another voice, also familiar, but a familiarity that brings feelings of worry, says, “He’s en route now, about half a megacycle.” A whirr-clink and the voice cackles, “So sad that you can’t make him into a freak like us!” 

Howling laughter as the sound of something metal being thrown and colliding with the wall and the first voice complains, “Primus, you are an awful medical assistant!” 

Back into the silent darkness. This time when he reemerges, he comes to fully. His vision is still slightly blurry and his limbs feel like they weigh a gigaton, but he can hear the world around him and move his helm side to side. 

The world comes to him slowly and over the hum of the machines he’s hooked to he can hear the faint chaos of a med bay, Ratchet’s distinct voice shouting orders, and the clattering of medical instruments and machinery being moved about. He manages to raise his helm enough to see that he’s in his own private room, sealed off from everyone else behind a door with a small translucent window. The lights in here are low and cast the room in purple hues. This definitely wasn’t Omega’s med bay and, judging by the colors of the lights, it wasn’t an Autobot one either. 

He tried sitting up then but the fresh weld seams on his side screamed out in protest. Pain flashed through him and he fell back against the berth with a shout of agony. One of the machines he was hooked to gives out a series of alarming beeps that persisted even as his pain began to ebb away. 

The door flew open and the lights shot on, stinging his optics. He turned his helm to watch as Ratchet tapped something on the machine and beeping stopped. 

“Slag, kid, you nearly gave me a spark attack!” Ratchet said, turning to him. “I thought you had flatlined for a cycle there.” 

“Sorry,” he croaked out. “Can you help me sit up?” 

The medic reached down to the side of the berth and pressed a button. Optimus felt the berth begin to bend inward, bringing his upper half slowly into a sitting position. He was clenched, bracing for pain, luckily only getting it when the berth stopped with a quick jerk. He let out a small groan at the short sharp burst as Ratchet apologized, “Sorry kid, these things are older than me, so they tend to act up.” 

The medic slouched against the wall opposite Optimus and asked, “Other than getting jostled a bit, how you feeling?” 

Optimus thought on that for a moment before answering, “Kinda hungry.” 

Ratchet chuckled. “I’ll have someone bring you a cube.” He looked to his left and Optimus followed his gaze.

A massive window was set behind him, showing the curvature of the planet they were orbiting. The sun was peaking behind it, casting rays of white light across the inky darkness while the side of the planet they could see was still covered by night. Small stars could be seen peeking out in the darkness beyond the sun, dulled against their closer and brighter stellar sister. 

“Where are we?” Optimus asked, turning to Ratchet. 

“On the Doomsday-class warship the Vengeance, specifically in Med Bay C. And you are in one of its ten negative pressure rooms because of the size of your wound.” The medic frowned as he continued, “I don’t know how much you remember, but Arcee, Omega, and you got pulled into a Quintesson trap when you went to pick up the carbon. It took us a while to get to you because of how far you were. When we got there, Omega had taken severe damage. They were raiding the cargo bay and working their way inwards, probably trying to capture him. We had to dock him here for repairs. He looks…okay. Nothing I haven’t seen on him before, but it’ll be a while before he’s flight ready again.” 

“And Arcee?” Optimus asked. He dreaded the answer. 

That caused Ratchet to smile. “She’s fine. One shot grazed her arm and some minor burns from dodging a flamethrower, but she’ll be walking out the med bay within the megacycle.” He glanced over one of the machines. “I’m just glad Megatron grabbed you when he did. You already had one ped in the pit when I got to you so any extra cycles could’ve cost you.” 

Optimus blinked at him. “What?”

Ratchet stared back before saying, “Huh, I guess that’s where your memory stops.” 

Optimus’s processor was having a hard time working out exactly what that meant as Ratchet rose and said, “I got to back to everyone else in the med bay. I’ll have that cube sent to you. And if you need anything, please use the call button instead of setting off your sensors again.” 

He was halfway to the door when the image of purple servos shot through his processor and he called out, “Ratchet?” 

The medic turned and he continued, “Who was doing my surgery before you got to me?” 

Ratchet look concerned as he frowned. “Someone who I think needs to visit you themselves. I’ll tell them to swing by.” 

With a “call if you need anything” tossed over his shoulder, Ratchet is gone and Optimus is left alone again. With his new angle, he looks around his room a bit more, twisting back as far as he comfortably can to look out the window. 

He can’t identify the planet laid before him. As he turned back something else caught his optics. 

The counter across from the berth was covered in random items. Staring for a moment he began to discern what some of them were. There were a couple of vials of innermost energon, small glowing cubes of high grade, a few energy blades, some datapads, and even a tiny box of energon goodies. He stared at them in shock. These were gifts only given to someone in absolutely dire condition. Had he truly been that close to being offlined? 

A knock on the door startled him. He jumped slightly and called out, “Who is it?” 

A moment of silence before a voice said simply, “It’s me.” 

He recognized the voice and felt his spark pound. “Come in.” 

The door slid open and sure enough, standing in the doorway, was Blackarachnia. Her whole demeanor screamed awkwardness, despite her servos resting on her cocked hips and her schooled nonchalant expression. It was the same look she would take on in the academy when she felt shy or awkward or out of place, like the first time she came over to Optimus to chat or asked Sentinel if he wanted to go off-campus and get a cube with her. 

Her optics met his and smiled. “Ratchet told me we should have a chat.” 

“You’re alive,” he gasped as she stepped in. The door swished shut behind her and she made her way to the chair at the end of his berth. She turned it sideways to accommodate for her — what had Sari called it? Her abdomen? That sounded correct — abdomen, which hung off the end. 

“I am,” she said. 

When she didn’t continue, Optimus pushed, asking, “But how? You—you exploded! A massive chunk of the island was missing and the shockwave broke windows all along the lakefront.” 

She thought for a moment and said, “I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know. Waspinator and I ended up on this weird planet with bots who were sort of like us but not quite. They were completely technological, no organic parts. Yet their alt modes resembled organic life that lived on Earth and on that planet. It was a…unique experience, to say the least. Then Strika found me and brought me back here.” She gave him a crooked smirk, revealing one of her fangs. “I’ll have to give you the full story over a cube of high grade when your midsection is in one piece again.” 

Blackarachnia turned and stared at the gifts lining the counter. “We thought you were a goner. Your fuel pump was exposed, you lost one-third of your fuel, and your spark rate was so low one of the machines couldn’t detect it. Even after we got you off the operating table, we thought your chances were slim. Yet somehow, you made it.” 

Silence settled between them. Optimus couldn’t tell if it was awkward or not. 

“How have you been?” he asked her. 

She looked surprised at his question. “I’ve been surviving. I've been mostly conducting research and aiding in weapons development. Sometimes I’ll go out and fight but only when it’s super necessary.” She narrowed her optics. “Why do you ask?” 

“Because every other time you’ve seen me, you’ve tried to kill me,” he replied, smirking a little. “A personality change like that doesn’t happen in a single solar cycle.” 

“Well, ignoring the fact that you nearly died on us, I think it’s that I’ve been coming to terms with” — she threw her arms up into the air — “this slag. I may never be able to get rid of this but constantly being sad and a glitch to everyone wasn’t helping me or anyone. I’ve also proven to everyone around me that bringing up the whole techno-organic thing will result in some form of bodily harm. Blitzwing keeps making spider jokes though but at least half of them are funny so he gets a pass.” 

She paused and turned her optics to the floor again. “Also, after seeing Sentinel’s reaction, I realized I only have one old friend remaining.” 

Right, Sentinel. Optimus vividly remembered his reaction when he saw Blackarachnia and how had tried to kill her then and there. It made his tanks twist. It wasn’t long before their trip to Archa Seven that Sentinel had admitted he was intending to start the conjunx ritus with Elita right after their graduation from the academy. 

“Regardless, I am adjusting well. Once you’re in better condition, we can get that cube together and formally catch up with each other.” She waved a servo. “But that’s in the future. I have to get back to helping Ratchet. Do you need anything right now?” 

Optimus glanced over at the counter. “Could you get that stack of datapads for me?” 

She nodded and went over, grabbing it. Seven datapads in all, which she dropped down next to his hips. He grabbed the first one off the stack and she grabbed the second. The datapad contained two books on it, one titled _Inducing Dull Surprise: The Art of Boring Your Enemy to Their Doom_ and _The Comprehensive Star Guide of the Decepticon Empire_. Odd books, for sure, but Optimus figured if it was here, then it meant that someone had loved it enough to give it to him. Or just really wanted to declutter their shelves and found someone to give datapad to. 

“Oh, this one is definitely from Lugnut,” Blackarachnia said as she handed it over to him. “He is a sucker for trashy romance novels, especially the star-crossed lovers separated by fate or whatever.” 

“You know his favorite genre?” Optimus asked, turning on the datapad. Three novels were stored on the device, _Total Eclipse of the Spark_ , _Foolish Lover’s Game_ , and _In Your Optics_. Not to judge a novel by its title, but they definitely fit what he would consider trashy romance novels. 

“Only because he won’t shut up about it,” she muttered. She picked up the one Optimus had set down. “This is probably from Blackout. He loves nonfiction and constellations.” 

“What about everyone else?” Optimus asked. When she hummed inquisitively as she flipped through the star guide, he elaborated, “Everyone else’s favorite genres, do you know them?” 

“Not everyone and I don’t know for sure. Strika likes romance too, but she prefers super long slow burn historical romance. Shockwave likes mysteries and thrillers. Blitzwing got hooked on this type of human sci-fi and has been working his way through a bunch that he got someone to download onto a datapad for him. Most of the seekers we have right now were sparked on Earth so they’ve been slowly getting into Cybertronian works and clinging to what few Earth artifacts they have.” She shrugged as she set the datapad down. “And Megatron is a mystery — not like he’s a mystery fan but that he’s literally a mystery. No one knows what his favorite genre is. I think he’s what humans call a jack-of-all-trades.” 

Optimus refrained from telling her that wasn’t how the saying went. 

A knock on the door drew both of their attention. Optimus called out, “Come in.” 

The door slid open and revealed Megatron standing in the doorway, holding a cube of energon in one of his servos. He walked in nonchalantly, looking between the two of them. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.” 

Blackarachnia smiled politely and bowed slightly. “Not at all, my liege. Optimus and I were just catching up. We were friends in the academy before my, uh, incident, and his subsequent expulsion.” 

Megatron looked surprised at this statement, saying, “Really? I had believed you were a member of the Elite Guard. After all, you did best me in battle.” 

Optimus felt his face flush in shame. “No. I got expelled after what happened to Eli—Blackarachnia. I got to retain the Prime title by taking a job as captain of a space bridge repair crew.” 

Megatron shook his helm. “What a shame. They lost out on a truly amazing officer. Glad to see that you were still able to rise to honor by becoming the Magnus.” 

A blush blossoms over Optimus’s cheeks and he notices the smirk Blackarachnia shoots his way before she announces, “I need to excuse myself. I have to continue piecing everyone back together. Optimus, call if you need anything, Lord Megatron, it was a pleasure as always.” 

The warlord stepped out of her way as Blackarachnia made her way to the door, sliding it open and slipping out into the chaos of the med bay. 

“Here,” Megatron said, giving Optimus the cube of energon, “I thought you might be hungry.” 

It was obviously a Decepticon sized ration as he had to use both servos to hold the cube. It was heavy enough (or maybe he was weak enough?) that his arms were shaking as he took a long swallow. It was different from any kind of energon he had before. It was sweeter and tangier than the kind they kept on Omega and the faint taste of copper and mercury lingered on his tongue. He was shocked at how much he liked it. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but this cube is huge,” he commented as he brought it down to rest in his lap. “This looks like something Lugnut would fuel up with.” 

Megatron chuckled as he took Blackarachnia’s seat. “No, no, his cubes are much larger. That’s the smallest one I could find. But I figured you would need all the energon you could get, especially after your ordeal.” 

Optimus nodded slowly. Right. He had been on the verge of being offlined when Megatron had apparently scooped him up and rushed him to the med bay. He could remember some of it — the sound of his sword slicing through enemies, the warmth of his chassis, his barking orders over his comm and to Arcee. All of that came to him in blurry patches. 

“We managed to fight off the Quintessons with no deaths, at least none during the battle. Multiple injuries though, but Ratchet is doing an excellent job handling the med bay. I have to hand it to the mech, even though I suspect he’s older than me and is not the biggest fan of me or my Decepticons, he’s doing fantastic.”

They sat together in comfortable silence, Optimus drinking his cube while Megatron stared out the window. Optimus broke it by asking, “What planet are we orbiting?” 

“A neutral planet. Can’t remember the name right now, but it’s very organic. Mostly covered in water and not too much unlike that mudball Earth,” he replied, frowning at the mention of the human planet. 

Right, Optimus thought, he didn’t have the best experiences during his time there. Being kept as a single helm and servo in a lab could drive anyone to insanity. Didn’t excuse his attempted annihilation of the planet though. He doesn’t voice that out loud for a couple of reasons, the biggest one being there are no Decepticon signatures on the ceasefire document yet and the second biggest one being that he enjoys chatting with him like this. He’s shockingly civil and easy to talk with. Part of that could be that Optimus had nearly died in his arms or it could be that this was simply how he acted with bots he hated the least, to quote Strika. 

A knock on the door startles them both. Optimus calls out, “Come in.” 

The door swishes open, letting in the sounds of the med bay’s chaos. Alpha Trion is standing in the doorway, clutching a datapad. He steps in, letting the door slide shut behind him, silence returning to the room. The elder glances over to Megatron first, bowing his helm slightly and greeting, “Lord Megatron, what a surprise to see you here.” 

The mech looks a bit annoyed but returns the bowed helm and replies, “Alpha Trion. It has been centuries. Glad to see you’re still operating.” 

The elder doesn’t reply to that beyond his own look of annoyance, which dissolves as he turns to Optimus. “Optimus Magnus, I have some urgent updates I would like to share with you if you are feeling up to it.” 

The way that Alpha Trion was tapping his digits against the back of the datapad and his glances over at Megatron let Optimus on that this was indeed something urgent. Alpha Trion was often calm and collected and never fidgeted so to see him doing something like this now meant that something had gone horribly wrong. 

“Of course,” he replied, sitting up a bit straighter. His weld seams screamed at the stretch and he managed to hide the pain with only a small wince. 

Megatron rose, saying, “I must be going. I need to ensure everyone is in one piece and that repairs are going well.” He extended a servo to Optimus. “I can take your cube with me.” 

Optimus handed over his empty cube and gave his thanks. The warlord left, saying goodbyes to them both before slipping back into the chaos outside. 

Alpha Trion watched him go before grabbing the chair he had been sitting in and dragging it over to Optimus’s side. “This is a rather large issue and I have been trying to contain it on my own. I do apologize, as it is somewhat my fault.” 

Optimus gives him a confused look and asks, “I’m not keeping up here. What happened?” 

The elder takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before explaining, “For us to get to you so quickly after your distress call came in, we had to utilize a space bridge. I authorized the Decepticon fleet to use a one to get to your location for backup. I must admit, I do not regret what I did, as you could be dead if we had not gotten to you in time. But word got out about it and now there are…certain bots who are not happy with Decepticons being allowed to use a space bridge.” 

Optimus let everything sink in. He knew, logically, that they would have had to use a space bridge to get to him so quickly. He also knew that Alpha Trion was ranked directly below him on this mission and so it was logical that he would be the one to authorize the space bridge usage. And he knew that if the roles were reversed, if Alpha Trion or anyone on his crew were in danger and the only way to save them would be to let the Decepticons use a space bridge, he would allow them to in an instant. Besides, space bridge codes were complex, with a new being generated for each usage that then expired after usage. 

“Who exactly is not happy with this?” he asked. A headache was already building behind his optics. Maybe Ratchet could give him something for it. 

“A couple of the council members, some bots on Cybertron, and, unfortunately, Sentinel Prime.” 

Optimus closed his optics and groaned, rubbing his face. Everything had been going so well but he knew that there would be a wrench in his plans eventually. And here came his blue big chinned wrench. 

“He has been exceedingly vocal about his displeasure with this, and the ceasefire draft, and is requesting that he be put in charge of this mission and that you be sent back to Cybertron.” 

Optimus’s optics shot open at that. “No! That can’t happen, we’re actually getting somewhere here. We have the ceasefire done, they’re willing to sign it, and with the Quintessons attacking Arcee, Omega, and I, they could be planning another attack soon, and the next could be on a colony.” 

Alpha Trion nodded. “I know, sir, and that’s what I’m trying to tell them. But you may have to be the one to deliver that message to him and to the others on Cybertron.” 

The mech sighed. “Right. Find me somewhere I can call Cybertron so I talk some sense into everyone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, another chapter within a week of the other one! Like I said, I had this one pretty much done. Not sure when chapter six will be out but it will be much longer than this one. I do apologize if Blackarachnia is OOC here, but I love that goth spider lady so much and I feel like she didn't get enough character development in the show.


End file.
